That Girl is the Devil's Wife
by itachi's future wife
Summary: "Hell Gate," Stiles read,"a portal between Hell and Earth, which when opened allows demons passage to Earth." Stiles slammed the book closed and threw it book across the room. "Why is it always Beacon Hills?"
1. Chapter One

Chapter One

Dr. Deaton looked up from the cat he was examining as the bell above the front door of his office rang, signaling that he had a visitor. An aura of familiarity pulsed through the air. He removed his gloves, placed the feline back in its cage, and went to greet his visitor.

Stiles had grown. Deaton supposed he shouldn't have been surprised. After all, it had been six years since he'd seen the boy. Or man, he supposed. That much was clear. Stiles was a hint taller than when Deaton had seen him last. His hair was a touch longer, styled loosely and his eyes were hidden by black sunglasses. Deaton checked the sky, it was an overcast day. 'Hiding your magic,' Deaton's mind supplied. This was no longer the boy struggling to levitate a feather in the back of Deaton's small clinic. Stiles was now a witch through and through.

"Hey Doc, you miss me?" Stiles dragged a nervous hand through his hair, a wry smile pulling at his lips.

"I'll admit, it _is_ good to see you again. I was sad to hear about your father's condition. That's what brought you back to Beacon Hills, I assume." Deaton embraced the young man at his door with a fondness he'd almost forgotten. Stiles had only trained under him for a few months before he was ready for a new teacher but that seemed like a lifetime ago. He had to admit, he would have never ever expected Stiles to step back within the town's limits.

"I'd say it's good to be back but," Stiles gestured loosely with his hand, "you know I hate lying. Did you get my gift?" Stiles Stilinski carefully stepped into the vet's office, removing his sunglasses and pocketing them. His eyes were a bright -almost glowing- amber color, clearly unnatural. Deaton would have to remember to ask how those were kept hidden.

The office hadn't changed much since the young witch last been there. The scorch marks from his many failed attempts at a simple fire-starting spell were still there in the corner only minimally disguised by a stack of books. Stiles clearly couldn't fight back a grin at the sight.

"A complete collection of Shinto lore. You could have knocked me over with a feather I was so surprised. It's a rare treasure indeed. I'm sure the Pack could have used it when we had that kitsune running around last year. I stand to guess your studies took you into Asia, then?" Deaton led him back into the break room and set a kettle of tea to brew before the two of them sat down.

"I learned quite a bit there, drove my professor's crazy though. They could never quite understand how I missed so much class but still managed to graduate with honors." He laughed. "I visited that witch, Sumiko, in Osaka. She was everything you said she'd be. Harsh but quite a good teacher. She thought you'd appreciate it. It was the least I could do, getting it to you, after all." Deaton watched as Stiles crossed and uncrossed his legs. The younger man was clearly wound up like a rubber band stretched too tight. How long would it be until he snapped?

"Stiles, you don't owe me anything. I just wanted you to live up to your potential. You've far exceeded my expectations." Deaton said fondly, gesturing towards his face. "I imagine those could be quite distracting. Do you have to wear the sunglasses all the time?"

Stiles let out a laugh. "Nah, I normally wear a glamour to dull them but well, teleportation bites. I've been really busy and that last bit of magic kinda wiped me out. Sucks to be wearing sunglasses at night though. Makes me look like a douchebag." Stiles yawned loudly and leaned back in his seat. He seemed to be relaxing, Deaton observed. "And I owe you everything, you know. If it weren't for you...I wouldn't know who I am today and now. You pulled back the curtain and yeah, I was pissed for a while but now, I couldn't be more grateful. With my dad being sick and all...I'm afraid I'll lose myself in this godforsaken town all over again. I built something for myself outside of this place. A reputation. And now I'm here all over again." He sighed.

"You know, your mother often shared that fear. Claudia stayed for your father but I believe she suffocated in this small town. She would be proud of you for completing your training in such a record time."

Stiles sent him a dry smile. "Six years is record time?"

"You'd be surprised how many people don't complete the journey. For others, it takes a lifetime. You finished in under a decade. Believe me, that's record time." Deaton stood and went to check the tea. He poured them both a cup. "Is your friend still with you?"

"Julius? Yeah, that freeloader is at the house with the rest of my crap probably knocking stuff over and puking everywhere. You remember." Stiles replied, a fond humor coloring his tone.

"You two work well together." Deaton said. "You could use more friends."

"Hey! I'm great! Totally good at making friends. Or should I say allies? Yeah, allies is totally better." Stiles took a long sip from his cup. "You heard of the Men of Letters?"

"Not much. No one does. I believe they were killed off years ago." Deaton quirked an eyebrow. "Unless that is not the case."

"No, you're totally right. They were killed but there are two legacies still alive. Brothers. They're holding down the family business. They're not that much older than me and get this, the Men of Letters documented allied Witches. Good witches. My mom's family was on the list. They seemed just as shocked as I was. Now we're all kind of trying the reestablish connections, see if any of the old organizations are still up and running, if there are any descendants running around."

"I'm not surprised that your family was listed. Your mother came from a powerful line." Deaton agreed.

A look of sadness fell over Stiles' face, "I wish some of them had been around long enough to teach me."

"Sadly, some hunters don't have codes at all." Deaton said sympathetically. "I'm glad you were able to procure at least a small portion of your family's history. The Men of Letters, legacies or not could be powerful allies."

Stiles snorted, "nah, they're the biggest dorks you'll ever meet. Good people though." He set his empty cup down and stood. "I should probably get home. Just wanted to get out of the house for a bit and stretch my legs. My dad keeps asking questions and I'm not sure he'll like the answers." He replaced his sunglasses and pulled a set of black leather gloves.

"Scott still works here. He'll scent you the moment he walks through the door and I won't lie to him if he asks." Deaton warned. "Don't be surprised when they show up at the Sheriff's home. I can't keep him clueless forever."

"There will be no scent to track," Stiles pulled on his gloves and flexed his fingers. He closed his eyes concentrated, focusing on erasing all traces of his presence in Deaton's clinic. Finally, after a few moments, he pulled out of his trance. He cracked his knuckles and shoved his hands in the pockets of his jacket. "That should take care of that. I trust you'll keep my secret. For old time's sake?"

"You need only ask. Come back and see me while you're in town." Deaton smiled slightly at the impressive show of magic.

"Will do." Stiles grinned at him. "Hey Deaton, do you believe in angels?" He asked suddenly, genuine curiosity on his face.

Deaton considered the question for a few seconds before replying, "I believe in possibilities, Stiles."

"Good answer. I'll see you later, Doc." Stiles threw up his hand in a wave and was gone.

* * *

"You didn't have to cook, you know. I have gotten by on my own for the last few years. I think I can handle it." John Stilinski watched his son move around their old kitchen with a practiced grace. It was as if he'd never been gone.

"The doctor said no stress, remember? Stress and cancer don't exactly mix well so, let me cook for you. That's why I'm here." Stiles replied easily, charming the knife to chop tomatoes on its own while he rinsed the pasta. A simple penne with a homemade marinara.

"I still haven't gotten used to that. " John pointed to the knife. "Claudia never used magic in the house. I guess that's why I never realized she was a witch." John sighed and sat down at the kitchen table. He watched Stiles move around the kitchen before speaking, "you gonna tell me where you've been the past six years or what, Stiles?"

"No stress remember?" Stiles deflected easily, not even looking up from the stove.

"No stress? You come home one night, tell me about all about the werewolf situation in my town and 'oh by the way, mom was a witch' and then you just up and disappear, no phone calls, no letters? 'Dad I have to leave.' Just gone. You don't think that was stressful? Then, I get sick and you suddenly reappear again? I didn't call you. How could I? How the hell did you even know I was sick? What have you gotten yourself into, Stiles?" John demanded, slamming his fist down on the table top. The knife froze in the air, twirling as if confused.

Stiles took a deep breath and hung his head. "Trust me dad, you don't want to know. All that matters is that I couldn't stay here anymore. I had to leave."

"Don't give me that! You dropped off the face of the earth, Stiles. No one could find you! You didn't even go to Scott's wedding!" John got to his feet.

"If you'll remember correctly, I wasn't invited." Stiles sighed deeply and pinched the bridge of his nose. He had to reign in his anger. That had been one of the first lessons he'd been Stephen had drilled into his head in New York. "I don't know what you want me to say? Sorry? That'd be a lie and you told me not to lie to you anymore." Stiles twirled his finger absently and the knife resumed its cutting.

"You have to have an address to send an invitation and by the way, lying by omission? Still lying." John commented in a low voice.

"You have to be friends to give someone you address." Stiles replied snappishly. "Scott made his choice and I made mine. If that's all, I'd like to finish dinner, please."

"Stiles, that isn't fair and you know it! I deserve to know! I've had it up to here with the secrets and the lies and your mother-" Stiles slammed his hands down onto the counter.

"Don't bring her into this! Mom did what she did to protect you! She loved you! She died for me and for you so don't you dare bring her into this!" He shouted. John froze, his jaw going slack. An ominous silence filled the room as Stiles finally realized what he'd said.

"Stiles, your mother was killed in a car accident." He finally said.

"You know what, make your own dinner if you want to so bad." Stiles turned off pulled the knife out of the air, breaking the charm.

"No, you are not running away this time-"

"Why can't you just accept that there are some things you're better off not knowing. Believe me." Stiles said tersely before heading out of the kitchen.

John watched his son's retreating back. A mewl at his feet caught his attention. Stiles' cat walked in between his legs, purring softly.

"Julius, right?" He leaned over to stroke the black and white cat's soft fur. Stiles had never shown any interest in cats or pets in general but he seemed to be a docile enough. What really troubled John about the cat was that Stiles sometimes…talked to it. Like it could understand him. The cat's purring got louder.

John got to work on dinner for himself and hoped his son would come down sometime soon.


	2. Chapter Two

Chapter Two

Stiles switched his phone to his left hand as he pulled up in front of his house. He'd been in the next town over at an occultist shop collecting ingredients. On his way home, he'd gotten a phone call.

"We finally killed that stupid son of a bitch. I fucking hate wraiths." Stiles heard the tell-tale hiss of a beer bottle being opened. He swung his car door shut and put his keys in his pocket.

"Wraiths are hard." Stiles agreed. He pulled his jacket off and hung it on the rack after he walked through the front door. "You didn't let it touch you, did you? That would've made things infinitely harder. It's always harder to kill something when you're half out of your mind." He said.

"It brushed Sam's hand before we killed it. We had to handle his crazy before we could even worry about the damned thing." Dean admitted with a heavy sigh. Stiles let out a laugh.

"I knew it! Way to go, losers. You're better than that, Dean. I thought that was hunter one oh one." Stiles chuckled dryly.

"Did you miss the part where it was Sam, not me, who got touched or did that just float over your head? Don't be such a little shit about it." Dean replied petulantly. Stiles heard him take a sip.

"The big bad Winchesters taken down by one little Wraith? It's sad really. If you wanted me back so bad, all you had to do was ask. I could pop in any time you like." John was sitting at the kitchen table when he walked in. Stiles pointed to the phone, a silent gesture to remain quiet.

"I can hear your stupid, smug face over the phone." Dean groused. Stiles fluttered his eyelashes even though he knew Dean couldn't see him.

"How's Cas?" He asked.

"How the fuck should I know?" Dean snapped, his voice tight.

"Are we really going to continue to pretend like there's nothing between you two? I pity Sam, really I do. I was only with you guys for a few weeks and I thought I'd burst with all that unresolved sexual tension-"

"Oh fuck off, Stiles! It's not like that and you know it." Stiles heard a door slam.

"I thought you weren't on a hunt. What are you doing?" He asked.

"Well, I am a hunter. It's kind of a 24-7 thing."

"Don't be coy, Dean. It doesn't suit you. Really." Stiles smiled fondly and sat down across from his father at the kitchen table. Julius hopped up into his lap and began to purr. He stroked the cat's soft black coat, scratching behind his ears. "What are you after?"

"Same old same old. Demons've been just a little too quiet for my taste, Sam thinks I'm being paranoid." he could hear Dean flipping through the pages of a book.

"Please tell me you aren't going to go looking for trouble." Stiles sighed.

"Better to find it before it finds me. The gates to hell are still open, kid."

"You're looking for Abaddon, aren't you?" Stiles rubbed his forehead. He could feel a headache blossoming. "I have no idea why you dug her up in the first place."

"Yeah yeah we've heard it all. Either way, she's either chilling out in hell or she's cruising in a new meatsuit."

"Why do both of those options make me nervous?"

"They should. Well, kid, Sam and I are gonna hit the books. See what we can find. All I know is that when demons go quiet, shit ain't right. How're things going on your end? You find what you were looking for?"

"You know I can't tell you that. As soon as I have something concrete, I'll call you immediately. I'll keep my eyes open though."

"Yeah. Don't get killed, kid. You're playing with some powerful stuff on your end."

"Well there's a reason you hate witches, after all." Stiles grinned.

"Yeah well, good luck. You don't have to do this on your own."

"I know. Thanks, Dean."

Stiles hung up his phone and laid it on the table. He chose to stare at the top of Julius' head rather than to look his father in the face.

"We gonna talk about what happened last night?" He heard John ask quietly.

"And give up this silence? Listen to that, it's so nice. Nothing quite like silence. It's golden, you know." Stiles looked anywhere but at his father.

"Stiles, please. I really don't want to argue with you. Not now. I just…I just want to know what's going on." Stiles lifted Julius up and pressed his face into the cat's warm neck.

"Will you please put the cat down and talk to me?" John said exasperatedly.

"But he's so soft. Like a pillow." Long claws suddenly dug into Stiles' hand causing him to cry out. He dropped the cat like it was on fire and glared at it from his seat. "Go feed yourself you little monster. I should have left you with Cas since you liked him so much."

"Stiles." Stiles finally looked up and met his father's eyes.

"I don't know what you want me to say. I'm not telling you anything else. I'm sorry I let something slip like that. I won't make that mistake again. Have a good night." Stiles pushed himself up out of his seat and fled the room.

* * *

He had to admit he was surprised to find Isaac in his room. He hadn't had the time to lay down a line of mountain ash around his room.

Isaac quietly appraised him from across the room. At one point, Stiles had thought him an angel. With his blonde curls, clear eyes, and high cheekbones, he had all the beauty of one.

But Stiles had met angels. He breathed a silent sigh of thanks that Isaac was not so angelic after all.

"I came here sometimes. After you left, that is." Isaac began quietly.

Stiles held his gaze, his mouth practically glued shut.

"I haven't told Derek that you're here. I haven't told anyone. I didn't think you'd want them to know."

"Thank you." Stiles replied softly. Julius strolled past him and hopped up onto the bed and into Isaac's lap.

"You never struck me as a much of a cat person."

"Yeah well, I'd had my fill of dogs. Thought maybe a cat might suit me better. After all, dogs have proven that they're not so loyal after all." Stiles snapped angrily, his nails digging into his palms.

Isaac didn't flinch. "If it's worth it, I never wanted things to go down the way they did. I didn't agree with Derek's decision. You know that."

"But that doesn't matter right? Derek's the Alpha. And we always have to do what the Alpha says, right? No matter who it hurts? Of course that's what we do because we're all so dutiful. He could ruin my life and you'd all just go along with it." Stiles let out a humorless laugh. "Get out, Isaac. Just get out. I don't want to see you or anyone else. Go ahead, tell Derek I'm here. Tell him that if he gets within a hundred yards of me, I'll rip his lungs right out of his chest."

Isaac nodded solemnly and stood. "Of course. I just wanted you to know, you still have friends here," he said, "and if had been up to me, we would've picked you." Isaac ducked out the window and was gone.

Julius' tail switched back and forth, his eyes on Stiles' face.

"Don't look at me like that. I don't need this right now. You're supposed to support me." Stiles moaned. He walked to his closet to look for a change of clothes, "and you didn't have to get so cozy with my dad. You can't guilt me into being nice you useless cat."

"Excuse me for looking for a little bit of affection." A cool voice said from behind him. Stiles whipped around.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?! My father could see you! Shift back! You're supposed to be a housecat." He hissed.

Julius stretched out contentedly on the bed, his pale skin appearing almost translucent in the light. He had night black hair and shimmering gold eyes.

"He left when you ran up the stairs like a child. I don't understand why you're acting this way. He seems like a nice man." Julius glanced at his fingernails and flexed his claws.

"He is." Stiles replied as he pulled a pair of pajama pants from his suitcase in the bottom of his closet. "That's why I'm trying to protect him. I have to protect him from what I'm really here to do."

"And what exactly are you here to do?" Stiles froze. He knew that voice.

"You have a visitor, by the way. Your puppy accidentally broke the salt line on his way out. I shifted so I could let you know but then again, I'm _so_ useless." Julius' grin was all teeth, his eyes golden gleaming delightedly.

Stiles threw the pajama pants on the floor and turned to face the so-called King of Hell.

"Crowley, I knew I smelled something rotten and pathetic in the air. How goes the regime change in hell? Abaddon made you her _bitch_ yet?" Stiles smirked at him and mentally reminded himself to check reset the lines on the windows and the doors.

"Now now let's not talk about me. I came to see you after all." Crowley looked distinctly out of place in Stiles' old room. The demon glanced around the space, disdain clearly evident on his face. "I thought you were an all-powerful witch? This is where you choose to live? It's a bit drab for your taste, don't you think?"

"What do you want, Crowley? Either tell me or fuck off." Stiles' patience was thinning. He hated dealing with demons.

"You kiss your mother with that mouth? Oh wait-"

Stiles hand shot up, fire radiating from his palm.

"Oh dear, did I go a bit too far?" Crowley smirked at him. "That's hellfire my boy, dangerous stuff. But to the point. I came ask you what the hell do you think you're doing? You killed two of my best salespeople this week. I'm not pleased, Fox. Not at all." Crowley pulled out his angel blade and twirled it in his fingers. "I can't have that. It's bad for business. You understand of course."

"I can't deal with you right now. I have bigger problems." Stiles shot at him, eyeing the angel blade carefully.

"One Jennifer Blake correct? Yes I've heard. I'll tell you now, she's no demon. You can stop asking. "

Stiles smirked at him. "That's what you think this about? Abaddon really has got you off your game hasn't she? I know she's not a demon but she's not human either. Stay out of my way and I won't roast anymore of your demons."

"You're treading on thin ice, brat. Be careful or you might just fall through." Crowley eyed him carefully. "But you'd just fox you way out of that too wouldn't you? I wonder how long it'll be before you encounter a trap you can't escape."

"I'll tell you what, today's not that day." Stiles snapped his fingers and a bright light flashed through the room. When it dimmed, the demon was gone. Stiles heaved a sigh and moved to reset the salt line.

"Make sure this stays together, please. I can't have any more meetings like that." He huffed.

"I'd like it said that I was against this plan from the start. I personally enjoyed Rio. We should have stayed there." Julius said after a few moments.

"Shut up, I'm thinking." Stiles tapped his lip thoughtfully. "This worked in our favor. Now I know for sure that she's not a demon. That however opens up a million other questions."

"I'm supposed to advise you so here's my advice. Leave. Walk away. Right now. Please, Stiles. I can't help you if you get yourself killed." Julius said, his voice low. "You can find another boy to love. Let this one go."

"Is that what you told my mother?" Stiles asked softly. "You and I both know that's not an option for me. I don't care how many people I push away if I keep them safe." A book flew from across the room and into Stiles' hand. "That last demon told me exactly what I needed to know."

He flipped through the pages and held the book up for Julius to see.

"Hell Gates."


	3. Chapter Three

Notes: The pairings in this fic are Destiel and Sterek, those are the main. They won't be the central focus however, that would be the plot.

* * *

Six Years in the Past:

Stiles pulled up to the Hale house in a rage. He parked and threw open the door not even bothering to close it as he stomped up onto the porch.

She was waiting for him there, her arms crossed. She had her hair pulled back from her face, a clear look of victory in her eyes.

"First, I just want to say I'm sorry," Jennifer began. Stiles noted the lack of sympathy in her eyes. "I never wanted things to go this way but you have to understand, Derek and I?  
What we have? It's special, Stiles. I love him. He loves me. I don't understand why you would want to ruin this for us."

"Because you're a lying bitch, that's why. Where's Derek? I called so I could talk to him. Not to you." Stiles hissed at her.

"That's what we need to talk about. We thought it would be best if you talked to me." Jennifer held her hands up in a placating manner. Stiles wanted to rip her arms out of their sockets.

"No way. Derek's no genius but even he's not that stupid. He knows how I feel about you." She grabbed his arm and yanked him back from the door.

"They wanted me to do it because I'm human. Derek wants the wolves to practice keeping their distance. We want this to be a clean break-"

"This isn't fucking Twilight! Where is he?! Derek!" Stiles shouted towards the house. "Derek get out here and face me!"

"Stiles, you're just embarrassing yourself now. They aren't even here. We thought they should go on a run-"

"What is this 'we'? Who died and made you the Alpha's mate because Derek and I both know-" a sharp slap to his cheek sent him reeling. Stiles hit the ground with a thud, his hands scraping for purchase before he fell off the porch completely.

"I've had it. This is my life. You need to leave. That fancy scholarship you got? Take it. Take it and leave. You can have a life outside the pack, away from all this. All those exorcisms whispered under your breath? Your paranoia is bordering on insanity, Stiles." Jennifer stepped over his sprawled legs to open the front door, still looking remarkably immaculate in her blouse and pencil skirt.

"I know what you are. I know you aren't human." Stiles hissed at her.

She turns to look at him, a smirk on her face.

"Baby, you have no idea."

* * *

It went downhill from there. A clean break? Yeah, Stiles was starting to understand why the girl went sort of crazy in the second Twilight movie. Scott was supposed to be his brother and suddenly, they weren't on speaking terms anymore. Stiles went to his house but no one came to the door even though it was clear the boy was home.

It was much the same with his other friends. Some deep inner part of Stiles understood. This was pack. If the Alpha decreed it, it was law. But the rest of him? The rest of him wanted to kick and scream and fight back. He sometimes caught Isaac watching him, a look of concern and longing painting his angelic face.

But then Scott would pull him away and Stiles would be alone again.

His father was working overtime so Stiles rarely saw him. To make matters worse, there was a stray cat lurking around his house. Stiles hated cats.

It was all building inside him, a violent storm of volatile emotions virtually tearing him apart.

One night, Stiles found himself in a place he thought he'd never go. There was a river on the edge of Beacon hills. A bridge stretched over it, leading into the town. When Stiles was child, his father used to take him there to go fishing before the accident. His mother had gone to visit her sister in San Francisco. Stiles remembered his father getting call that his wife had never made it there.

The found her car in the bottom of the river. Needless to say, they'd never gone fishing there again.

But there Stiles was, watching the water rush from his perch on the bridge's edge. It was a bad night. A storm was brewing.

Stiles slid his legs over the edge, the cool wind kissing his shins. He closed his eyes and took a breath. He'd been here before but never this close. He could almost feel his mother's soft hands clutching his shoulders tightly, a kiss pressed to his temple. He scooted himself forward his feet slipping lower. The water was so far away and yet it was if he could already feel it sliding in between his toes.

"Mom? Are you here?" He whispered, the wind covering the sound of his voice. Stiles shook his head clear. Of course his mother couldn't hear him. His mother was dead. The concrete on the edge bit into his palms. Blood trickled through his fingers. One more push and he'd be over. He sucked in a deep breath.

"Stiles, I need you to come back here now," a quiet voice said. "Please come away from the edge." Stiles opened his eyes.

"Dr. Deaton? What are you doing here?" Stiles asked. There were tears sliding down his face. Stiles lifted one of his hands to touch his cheek, the hot drops ghosting over his fingertips.

"The dead don't often talk, Stiles." Deaton moved closer, taking careful measured steps. He didn't want to scare Stiles into jumping. "But, when they do, I listen." He placed a hand on Stiles' shoulder and gently pulled him away from the edge. The boy didn't fight, sinking back into Deaton's touch like a starved child. "Claudia came to me. I'll let you that my office is in shreds. Your mother never was a subtle woman."

Deaton helped him to his feet and brought a bottle of water to his lips.

"Derek-" Stiles hiccupped.

"Derek has no claim over me. I am as loyal to you as I am to him, if not more so. Now, I believe we have some things to talk about." Stiles nodded solemnly before promptly passing out.

* * *

Present:

"You're a piece of shit you know that?"

Stiles smirked as he sauntered around the edge of the Devil's Trap. "I've been called worse by better people." He replied easily. "Now, you can tell me what I want to know or this can get messy. You already know what I did to the others."

"I don't know anything! None of us do! That information was lost centuries ago!" The crossroads demon snapped exasperatedly. "That's it. I don't know its location or how to find it."

Stiles pursed his lips. This little interrogation was running a bit log for his taste. He sighed and aimed his palm at the bag in the corner of the room.

"I'll give you one last chance. Tell me what I want to know or I'll roast them." He nodded to the bag of bones.

"That's a myth. You'd think a big bad witch like you would know better." The demon said quickly, eyes flickering the sack and then back to Stiles.

"We both know that's not true. The others before you tried to pull the same stunt. Tell me. Tell me now or you die." Stiles snapped his fingers and a flame ignited, glowing brightly from the palm of his hand. "Tic tock, my patience is thinning." The flame grew brighter.  
"A hellhound!" The demon screamed. "A hellhound can find it!"

Stiles closed his fist, snuffing out the flame. "That wasn't so hard was it? Now, tell me about the hellhound." He crossed his arms and stared the demon down.

"It's a door to Hell. It's home for them and a dog can always find its way home. They can find the gates even better than we can." The demon's eyes flared red. "Now let me go. That's all I know."

"Oh please. You never actually thought I was going to let you go. Who do you think I am?" Stiles shrugged and pointed to the bag.

"I swear I am going to kill you. I'm going to enjoy tearing the flesh from your bones-"

"The snapping's for show really. I have to keep myself interested, short attention span you know. It's actually as easy as one two-" the pile in the corner burst into flames, the demon's tortured screams tearing through the room. Stiles squeezed his eyes shut, the sudden blaze nearly blinding him.

Finally, the heat died down and Stiles opened his eyes. There were scorch marks on the floor, the Devil's Trap hidden by soot and ash. "Great," Stiles huffed. "Where the fuck am I supposed to get a hellhound?" He sighed and left the warehouse, locking the gate behind him.

* * *

Stiles figured that seeing as it was a small town, he was bound to see Derek sooner or later. Still, that didn't quite help with the shock of seeing Derek in the supermarket. The older man looked so out of place, all hard edges and leather jacket.

They met in the cereal aisle. Stiles was holding a box of raisin bran for his dad and Derek, a box of cheerios. A look of shock painted both of their faces for a few moments, a palpable silence and Derek's cart between them.

Stiles placed his box of cereal in the basket slung on his arm. He cleared his throat and nodded in greeting.

"I didn't know you were in town." Derek began quietly.

"Really? I was sure Isaac would tell you." Stiles replied quickly, his free hand twitching nervously. He straightened his back and narrowed his eyes. He wasn't afraid of Derek. He hadn't been in a long time. "And I would've thought you'd have someone else doing your shopping for you, Alpha Hale."

Derek's eyebrows flew up at Stiles' tone. "No. Just me." His eyes raked over the younger man, as if he was peeling back Stiles' flesh to expose any secrets he may or may not have.

"I see. Well this has been as about as delightfully awkward as I can handle in one day. See you later, Derek." Stiles turned away but Derek reached out and grabbed his arm, halting his quick escape.

"Stiles what the hell happened to you-"

"We're not doing this. Especially not here." Stiles hissed abruptly, shrugging Derek's hand off. "I am not doing this, okay? Just leave me alone. It's nothing you haven't done before."

"Derek? Is something wrong?" A woman with dark brown hair and eyes with pale skin stared back at him. "Stiles? I didn't know you were back."

"Obviously." Stiles snorted. "You would have kicked me out of my own town again by now." Stiles sent her a glare. "Hello Jennifer."

She pursed her lips. "We were so sorry to hear about your father. Scott finally managed to get into contact with you?"

Stiles smiled coyly at her, his teeth smacking together loudly as he bit back the harsh words threatening to spill over. He clenched his fists tightly to keep from throwing a spell at her.

"Well seeing as he's not allowed to associate with me, a rule Isaac seems to be breaking on a daily basis mind you, that's not really a possibility now is it?" Stiles said sweetly. "Keep your beta out of my room."

"I never told Scott-"

"I think we should go, Derek. Stiles seems busy." Jennifer tugged at the Alpha's hand."

"Later!" Stiles waved them off. He turned on his heel and marched out of the store, leaving his basket of groceries at the front register. He'd come back later when there was less risk of running into a member of the pack.

* * *

"He's in your room." Julius was on the couch. He had has sleeves rolled up and his feet propped up on the coffee table and a copy of War and Peace in his hands. Stiles gave him the finger and stomped up the stairs. "Someone's in a pissy mood!"

He threw open his bedroom door to find Isaac was sitting on his bed. The man was holding something, a glazed look on his face.

"Isaac! Put that down!" Stiles had left his scrying mirror out the night before. He snatched it out of Isaac's hands, breaking the trance. "Never look into this without me! Hell, don't get anywhere near it." He wrapped the mirror up in its sheath.

"I couldn't look away. What is that thing?" Isaac breathed. He rubbed his eyes.

"Nothing you need to be concerned about. Now that I've saved your life, you can tell me what the hell you're doing in my room." Stiles put his hands on his hips, a look of irritation on his face.

"Your cat let me in. Did you know he can turn into a human?"

Stiles ground his teeth and mentally reminded himself to throttle his familiar later.

"Yes, I'm aware. I'm also pretty sure that I told you to keep out."

"I'm not very good with rules." Isaac sighed. He fell back onto Stiles' bed and rolled around burying himself in the covers. "You mind if I take a nap here?"

"Yes. I mind. I fucking mind, Isaac. Get the fuck out." Stiles shouted, stomping his foot like an irate child. He had work to do and he wouldn't get anything done with a werewolf meddling in his room. Julius sauntered past him, fully feline. Stiles had to resist the urge to kick him.

"Hey Stiles?" Isaac called after a few moments. Stiles ground his teeth.

"What?"

"I'm glad to know you still care. You didn't want me to get hurt." He had a stupid grin on his face, his blonde curls fanned out in a halo over Stiles' pillows. Julius mewled and dug in next to him.

"I hate you both!" Stiles shrieked. He grabbed his mirror and his messenger bag and fled the room. He raced down the stairs and plopped down onto his couch. He'd been kicked out of his own room!

* * *

"Stiles?" Stiles' eyes fluttered open to see his father staring down at him. "You fell asleep on the couch. Isaac told me to tell you goodnight." Stiles looked down at himself. There was a blanket covering him, one he recognized from the top of his closet. Julius was curled at his feet, his golden eyes trained on Stiles' face.

"What? What time is it?"

"Just after eight. Derek called. He said you left your groceries at the store so I went out and bought some." John quirked an eyebrow but said nothing.

"Derek called? You two talk?" Stiles threw the blanket off and got to his feet. He followed his father into the kitchen.

"Yeah, a lot happened here while you were away. Derek comes over for dinner sometimes with Isaac and Scott." John shrugged and began putting things away.

"Here, let me get that." Stiles took the bags from his hands. "What do you want to for dinner?"

"I can cook, Stiles."

"No. Let me cook for you. That's why I'm here." Stiles set a pot of water to boil. "Go sit down. I don't know why you even went out. You should have woke me up."

"I needed to get out of the house. It's been a little suffocating." John sighed. "I know we haven't exactly been on the best of terms, Stiles."

"Yeah well, I suck at communication. That's pretty ironic considering I never stop talking." Stiles laughed dryly.

"I don't know, you've been a lot quieter since you got back." John leaned against the doorframe. "But I won't ask. Not anymore. I know why you kept the werewolf secret for as long as you could. I imagine you have a good reason for keeping this one. I just want to know you're safe." John looked at him pointedly.

"As safe as I ever am."

"And what happened to your mother, are you safe from that?"

Stiles saw a flash of blood, warm under his hands, his hands digging into hot flesh and fire pouring from his palms, bright blue eyes consumed in the flames.

"Don't worry, Dad. I handled it."


	4. Chapter Four

Four Years Past:

"Do you know what that spiral means?" Stiles closed his eyes and sighed. He'd been caught. He closed his journal and shoved it into his desk drawer.

"In the werewolf community, it stands for revenge." He replied uneasily.

"Last time I checked, _you _were not a werewolf." Stiles turned to face his teacher. Stephen was an older guy even though he didn't look it. There were hints of gray just starting to appear at his temples but the rest of his hair was a shiny black, slicked back away from his face.

"The principle's the same. And I did run with wolves for a few years." Stiles shrugged and closed his journal.

Stephen pinched the bridge of his nose. "I'm not here to teach you about vengeance, Stiles. From what you've told me, I wouldn't think you foolish enough to pursue it."

"Well then consider me a fool because I'm going to do it." Stiles got to his feet and moved to push past his teacher.

"They will kill you. They're witch hunters Stiles. They destroyed your mother's family. When they discover that you exist they will not stop until you're dead. Don't throw away all of Claudia's hard work. She did so much to keep you safe. Why would you risk that?"

"My mother is dead, Stephen. She's gone. I'm the last of our family's line. It's not as if they aren't going to discover me eventually. This way it's on my terms. I don't want the whole family. I just want Damien. I don't really care what happens after he's dead." Stiles pushed past his teacher and out of his room.

"I know," Stephen sighed, "that's what worries me."

* * *

Present:

Stiles could immediately tell he was dreaming. It wouldn't have been the first time he'd accidentally projected himself somewhere while dreaming. He would just have to wait it out until he slipped back into his body.

His skin felt slick with sweat, flames all around him. They licked his flesh but didn't burn. Had he been in his body, he was sure he would have roasted. He wanted to scream for help but found that when he opened his mouth, no sound would come. He groaned internally instead.

Stiles searched the room with his eyes as he tried to gain control of the projection. He couldn't quite move his arms and legs yet. This wasn't like any astral projection he'd done before. Then, he'd had free range of movement and now, now he was stuck.

It was a prison of some sort. '_A prison on fire_,' he thought sarcastically. A prison but the bars were not bars. They shifted and morphed, glowing in garish psychedelic colors. Stiles' head began to pound and he wanted to vomit. He had to look away from the walls.

There was a boy in the corner. He had dusty blonde hair, the strands hidden in a mess of ash and blood. He wouldn't meet Stiles' eyes. Stiles wondered if the boy could even see him. He looked vaguely familiar, like Stiles had seen him somewhere before.

Stiles still couldn't speak. He lightly shook his head, his body screaming in protest as he tried to regain movement in his neck. There had to be a way to snap him back, to get out. He craned his neck up, his gaze shifting towards the prison's ceiling and his eyes began to burn-

He gasped for air as he came back to himself. Stiles lurched up, his sheets clinging to his sweaty skin. He rubbed at his eyes, making sure they were still in his head. He was still panting when he heard a soft chewing sound at his feet. He yanked the comforter off his bed to reveal his cat. Julius had clawed his way, into a bag of skittles. There were nearly a dozen bags Strewn all over the bed.

"Julius what the hell-"

"You should really work on your eating habits. Skittles in bed is never a good sign." Stiles flung a bolt of energy into the dark, illuminating the room. Derek Hale stood across from him, a bit of amusement in his eyes. "I thought you were more of an Oreos guy."

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?! Do you realize I could have _killed_ you?! I still might!" Stiles threw his legs over the side of his bed and got to his feet. His knees wobbled for a few seconds as he regained his balance. "I know you're a glutton for punishment but _this_ is a bit ridiculous. Now why are you here? You wouldn't have come without a reason."

"I was driving past and I heard your heartbeat. You sounded scared so I came to check in." Derek shrugged as if it was the simplest thing in the world.

"I was having a nightmare." Stiles snapped. "Wait, I thought you could tell when I'm asleep or not."

"I can. I heard the glass breaking."

"Glass…" Stiles quirked an eyebrow at him. "What glass?"

"Stiles, you're bleeding." Derek pointed to his chest. "The window was blown open when I came." Stiles looked down at himself. There were red spots all over the front of his night shirt. He looked back towards his bed. There were glass shards all over it.

"What just happened? I-" Stiles stepped away from Derek. The stains on his shirt were growing. What had he done to himself?

"Stiles calm down for just a second-"

"No! This has never happened to me." He yanked the shirt over his head to expose the gashes littering his chest. They were shallow, nothing to worry about really but Stiles was having none of it.

He swept his hand through the air, disappearing the glass shards. Stiles marched across his bedroom to his nightstand and yanked open the drawer to find his scrying mirror.

"No one pulls one over on me and gets away with it. The moment I have your face-" Whatever had entered his room and sent him on a vacation to acid trip prison had to have left a trace. He held out the mirror and poured his energy into it calling for any trace of his visitor.

"Show me your face, you son of a bitch." The mirror's handle grew hot in his hands. It began to vibrate, shaking his entire arm. Derek watched the mirror with concern. There was a light pooling in the center of the glass coming nearer every second.

"Stiles, maybe you should let this go-" Derek tried.

"No!" The images shifted and twisted and grew brighter by the second and suddenly, the mirror burst into flames.

Stiles let out a shriek of fear and confusion, the mirror falling from his grasp. It shattered as it hit the floor, the flaming pieces slowly extinguishing.

"You want to tell me what that was?" Derek asked after a few seconds.

"No. No I don't. You need to leave, Derek. I need to think."

"I don't think you should be alone right now."

"I don't think it's any of your business what I do. Now get the fuck out before I kill you for trespassing."

* * *

"Let me guess, you broke it." Stephen sounded pleasantly amused. Stiles wanted to reach through the phone and punch him in the face.

"No! I was using it and it spontaneously combusted!" Stiles shouted into the phone. "That point's to faulty charm work on your end, my friend."

"Alright alright, there's no need to be so angry. What have I told you about keeping a calm mind?"

"That I'm terrible at it?" Stiles scoffed. "Calm and ADHD don't naturally go together, Stephen. I need to know what did this. What could destroy such a powerful magical object and project me in my sleep?"

"Well, you're capable of astral projection. You've done it in dreams before." Stephen didn't sound concerned. Stiles had to change that.

"No, not like this. I couldn't really move. Now that I think about it, I remember feeling restrained, like something was holding me back. Stephen, someone sent me there."

"Perhaps for good reason. You mentioned a prisoner. Maybe you're supposed to save him."

"I'm no one's trained monkey. I have bigger issues than one kid! And my window. I would have blown the glass shards out. Magical energy moves outwards, right? My window was blown _in_. Someone came into my room and did this. If they wanted my help, they would have faced me. This was an attack." Stiles reached into the top kitchen cupboard and brought down a can of cat food. Julius was so full of skittles, maybe he wouldn't even need to eat.

"It's possible that something that powerful might not have a face at all." He could hear Stephen shuffling around over the phone. "The things you've described? It sounds like you could have come into contact with a minor god or an angel. That's what it sounds like at least."

"Are you insane? You see any plaid anywhere? No. That would be because the Winchesters put me off plaid forever. They're the ones who deal with the wayward angels and pissed off minor gods. Not me."

"You have talents they don't. There aren't many angels with power to spare anymore, Stiles. Perhaps they need a witch to do it for them. For all we know, they were telling you something about the Hell Gate. You are still looking for it, correct?"

"Yes and I don't care what they're telling me. I work on commission. My services aren't free. I am not some angel's bitch. If he wants to work with me, he better come up with some way to pay me for my trouble -"

"Trouble in paradise?" Stiles lurched around, hitting the call end button. She was leaning against the kitchen doorframe, immaculately dress as usual. And per usual, Stiles wanted to see her head ripped from her soldiers.

"What are you doing in my house, Jennifer? I should call the police."

"I don't think that would be very effective considering the good sheriff let me in on his way out. Oh, the pentagram under the rug? Nice touch but don't you think that might come off a bit satanic to the neighbors-"

"Say another word and I will turn you to ash." A slow smirk pulled at Jennifer's mouth. Stiles wanted to scorch it off her face.

"You know, when you threatened me all those years ago, I didn't believe you. You didn't have it in you to take a life but..." she pushed off the wall and stepped towards him, her heels clicking loudly in the otherwise quiet kitchen. "Look at the sidekick now." She looked him over critically, her eyes dragging across his body. Stiles fought the urge to curl in on himself. He refused to show her weakness or fear.

"He's all grown up. The sidekick got his own show and he's not afraid anymore. Tell me Stiles, how many people have you killed?" Jennifer began walking around him in a slow measured circle, her index finger dancing against his shoulder.

"Why? Do you want to add to my body count?"

"Ooh! Tough guy! Watch out, he'll incinerate you with all that sass!" She cackled.

"I swear to god I'm going to-"

"Do what? Kill me? How do you think Derek will feel about that, huh? Do you think he'll be okay with that? Will that help you finally win his heart?"

"No but it'd certainly make me feel a hell of a lot better. I don't know who or what you are but I'm going to figure it out. I'm going to expose you. And then-" he leaned in close, his lips barely ghosting against her ear, "I'm going to rip you apart."

He took a step back, pushed a strand of hair back behind his ear, and pointed to the door. "You can leave now. And stay away from my father."

"Of course, I wouldn't dream of hurting the good Sheriff. Have a nice day, Stiles. I'm glad we get to have these little chats. I get bored playing games with the locals." She gave a little shrug. "You know how to spice things up."

"Good, now you can gladly fuck off."

Stiles followed her to the door and out onto the porch.

"Bye Stiles."

"See ya."

"Oh wait! I almost forgot," she said suddenly, "Jacob Caldwell just called Chris about his son, Damien's, murder. You wouldn't know anything about that would you? The Caldwells are witch hunters after all." She winked.

"Do yourself a favor, Jennifer. Don't play cute. It doesn't suit you." He slammed the door shut in her face.

It was only when he was sure she was down the path, in her car, and gone that he began to cry.

* * *

"Are you feeling better now?" Julius asked when he returned to his room. It was clean, the glass gone and the window repaired.

"You shouldn't use magic like that. It could attract attention. And since when did you develop a sweet tooth?" Stiles replied flatly, gesturing to the pile of skittles' bags at the foot of his bed.

"So you're still upset, of course." Julius rolled his eyes and held out a bag.

"I don't want any."

"Just take the bag."

Stiles glowered at him. "Fine." Stiles dug his hand into the bag but there was no candy. He pulled out a slip of paper.

"What the hell? Veronica Matthews? Who the fuck is Veronica Matthews?"

"I was hoping that you would know seeing as I do not." Julius sighed deeply.

"Then why leave it? Why give me some name?" Stiles crumpled the piece of paper.

"Perhaps it's about the hell gate."

"Does everyone and their mother know I'm here looking for that thing? So much for secrecy." Stiles sighed deeply and sat down on his bed. "This is a disaster. A horrible horrible disaster."

"You should focus on keeping a calm mind."

"I left Stephen in Tibet for a reason, thank you."

"His lessons should have traveled with you. Try meditation. Clear you head and then re-approach the situation. Or we could abandon this venture like I suggested in the first place." Julius crossed his arms and began to pace. "You should probably start talking now, you have a visitor who can hear." He nodded towards the new window.

"Isaac?"

"No, the one with the floppy hair."

"Scott, great. Okay, you go to the library and search that name. See what comes up. I'll send an email to Sam to see if it means anything to him. Ugh, I hate puzzles."

"You'll handle your dopey grinned friend, then?"

"Yeah, leave him to me. Thanks." Julius had already shifted and was out the door. Stiles huffed and fell back against his bed. "You can come in now!"


	5. Chapter Five

Chapter Five

Stiles dusted himself off and put in his earplugs. He'd barely seen the top of Scott's head before bolting from his bedroom like a frightened five year old. He wasn't as ready to face his best friend as he thought.

"Sticking out like a sore thumb. As usual. You're slipping, boys." He ran his finger down the side of the black '67 Impala. He snapped his fingers and the car's horn began to blare like there was a hand holding it down in heavy traffic.

The effect was instantaneous. The door to the bunker flew open and Dean Winchester stepped out in all his pissed off glory, gun pointed right in between Stiles' eyes. Stiles snapped his fingers again and the honking stopped. He pulled out his ear plugs.

"About a subtle as crop circle this thing is." He patted the car's hood. "You should really make your car unplottable like the bunker. I may not be able to find the space but I can always find the car." Stiles winked at the older man. "So what? No hug?"

"You little shit, I almost shot you." Dean un-cocked the gun and shoved it back where it came from. Stiles didn't want to guess. "What the hell are you doing here? I thought you were going all commando on the Devil's Gate in California."

"Something came up. You gonna invite me in or are we just gonna sit out here looking like two stooges?" Dean raised an eyebrow but nodded and led Stiles inside.

Stiles had always loved the Men of Letters Bunker. He'd debated staying there permanently. Sam had made the offer after all.  
"I take it this isn't a social call. What happened?"

"Stiles? Did something happen with the Devil's Gate?" Sam asked. He was sitting at the war table, his laptop and a few dozen books in front of him.

"What? I can't just pop in unannounced to see my two favorite boys and their gaggle of wayward angels?" Stiles plopped down across from Sam and put his feet up on the table.

"Seeing as I am no longer an angel, I don't believe that title applies." Castiel came around the corner wearing what Stiles recognized as one of Dean's tee-shirts. The rumpled man was holding a cup of tea in one hand and a newspaper in the other.

Stiles threw Dean a knowing smirk.

"I knew it."

"Shut the fuck up, Stiles." Dean snapped hurriedly, his eyes flashing to Sam.

"Backing off. Backing off. So not my business." Stiles held his hands up in surrender, a grin on his face. Gosh, why did he ever go back to Beacon Hills? He knew he should have taken Sam and Dean up on their offer.

"Is it polite to introduce a guest?" Stiles looked past Castiel to see a young, blonde woman watching him with critical interest. She radiated a celestial power that had Stiles' hackles raised instantly.

"Adriel, this is Stiles. He's a Witch."

"Witchcraft is a demonic art. I wasn't aware the famous Winchesters associated with such behaviors." Stiles wasn't very fond of fallen angels. Even though most of them were helpless in human situations, lost in a world they couldn't understand, they still looked down their noses at humanity. This one was no different. Her vessel was tall, thin, and blonde with icy blue eyes. She reminded Stiles distantly of Jennifer with a different hair color. He cringed at the comparison.

"At least I don't ride around in a stolen skin. That seems rather demonic to me. Adriel, was it?" He stuck out his hand for her to shake. "Stiles. White and neutral magic only. None of the dark stuff for me or these guys would skewer me first, ask questions later."

Adriel looked at his hand with disdain.

"Part of being human, Adriel. Shake his hand. It's easy." Sam pushed gently.

"It's unsanitary. I don't know where you've been." Adriel looked even more offended at the notion.

"Yeah see, that's impolite." Stiles withdrew his hand. "You'll never pass for human that way. Anyway, the reason I'm here. I'm in need of a Hellhound and I thought you two losers would know how to find one."

"A Hellhound?"

"Losers?"

"The wraith, Sam. Really quite the screw up. And I need the Hellhound to help me find the Hell Gate. Apparently they can find their way home. You know, dogs and all."

"A Witch consorting with a Hell Hound. Charming."

"Now that just sounds dirty." Stiles glowered at her. "Anyway, yeah. I have to somehow get my hands on one and make it do what I want."

"You always take the easy way out, Stiles." Dean laughed dryly.

"Hey, mocking is not nice. And I need to do it fast. I think someone else is gunning for that Hell Gate. And not with my noble intentions of keeping it on lock down."

"Why do you think that?" The room had gone deadly quiet. The time for humor had passed.

"Something broke into my room and projected me in my sleep. I tried to scry for it and it destroyed my mirror."

"You're super special 'don't touch that without me' mirror? I thought it was indestructible." Dean replied.

"It's supposed to be. Stephen's one of the most powerful sorcerers on the planet. The fact that something was able to break his spell work? Not a good sign." Stiles got to his feet and began to pace. He was getting jittery just thinking about it.

"Demons?"

"Salted the windows and doors and my bed sits on a Devil's Trap. Both were unbroken when I checked the next morning. Not a demon." Stiles replied.

"Great." Dean groaned. "God I need a normal job." Castiel passed him a cup of tea.

"Perhaps you should describe where you were projected. That might help us identify this other being." The ex-Angel suggested.

"I don't know. It was hot. Like hotter than any place I'd ever been in my life and I've been to Death Valley. There was fire everywhere. I was boxed in and the walls…they weren't solid exactly but it's like they were made of light. Weird psychedelic colors…it was hard to look at. I didn't like it. There was someone else there. He couldn't have been older than say…19? That might be pushing it." Stiles shrugged. It wasn't something he particularly liked to remember.

"Stiles…" Sam began, his breath hitching. "This kid, did he sort of look like Dean? Just a little younger? Eyes a different color?"

Stiles' eyes flickered to Dean, giving him a quick once over.

"Now that you mention it, yeah! He kind of did. Not exactly but you could pass for brothers-" Stiles stopped dead. "Oh God…Oh I'm so sorry, I didn't realize."

"Adam. You saw Adam. Stiles, what you described? It's the cage. Someone sent you to Lucifer's Cage in Hell." Sam sighed deeply. "This is huge. I mean majorly huge. We have a serious problem."

"That's impossible." Adriel scoffed. "Tell them, Castiel. It's impossible."

"Adriel is right. It is highly unlikely that you we sent into the cage." Castiel agreed.

"And why is that?"

"The location of Lucifer's cage is restricted information. Only the highest of Archangels know where it is."

"And they would be?" Dean pressed.

"Michael, the creator, Raphael, Gabriel, and of course, the prisoner, Lucifer. They were the only four." Adriel asserted.

"But Cas, you pulled me out. How'd you know where the cage was?"

"I don't know. When I was remade, the knowledge was in my mind. I never revealed its location to anyone else. Ever. Such knowledge is  
precious." Castiel responded.

"So two of the angels who knew are now dead and the other two are actually in the cage. That doesn't leave us many options. Are you sure, Sam?" Stiles prodded.

"Yes! Believe me, that's not a place you forget, Dean. God, Adam is still down there with those two psychos. We have to do something!"

"Maybe someone else already is. This can't be a coincidence. Stiles gets a hit off a Devil's Gate near his hometown? Then suddenly he's in the cage? No way any of this just happens." Dean groused. "It's always us. Always us."

"Adriel, are you sure no one else knows the location of the cage?" Sam pushed.

"There's no one else-" She paused, a thoughtful look crossing her face. "Well, there were others. The cage isn't just one prison." She said slowly. "Heaven imprisoned the other angels that fell with Lucifer in smaller cells that radiate around the main cage. They would have opened when the 66 seals were broken."

"And we're just finding this out now!?" Dean shouted, springing to his feet.

"Angels weren't meant to live in Hell, Dean. Prolonged exposer to the hellfire tarnishes an angel's grace. It would have killed them eventually. We believed Lucifer's army dead centuries ago. It's the reason they didn't rise with him." Castiel attempted to placate him. "And the Knights that were not imprisoned were eradicated by the remaining archangels."

"Wait, Knights? As in the Knights of Hell? I thought they were demons." Sam cut across him.

"I can see why you would assume that. As I said before, Hellfire tarnishes an Angel's grace. Burns off their wings. It's like a scar that turns a pure white grace to black. They become demon-like. More powerful of course." Castiel shrugged. "That's why they were killed. They were no longer fit to be called Angels."

Dean and Sam shared a horrified look. "Abaddon."

The sound of shattering glass shocked everyone into silence.

Adriel's hand was bleeding, a look of horror on her face.

"Where," she whispered, "where did you hear that name?"

"She's a demon. Or we thought she was a demon. We met her not to long ago. She fled her last meatsuit." Sam told her.

"Castiel! Why did you not tell me this? Why didn't you tell any of us?!" She demanded angrily. "Abaddon was supposed to be dead. She was supposed to have been the first killed! Didn't it occur to you that we might like to know she's still breathing?!"

"I…" Castiel looked troubled. "I am younger than you Adriel. Much younger. I do not remember the war in great detail. Nor do I remember the names of the Knights of Hell. They were stripped from the Archives of Heaven. I assumed her an upper level demon when the Winchesters described her."

"That's why she fled the Holy Fire. Grace tainted or not, she's still an angel." Sam jumped to his feet and raced out of the room, presumably towards the library.

"So let's take a leap. Abaddon's not as dead as everyone thinks. She heads into Hell, deep unground. Finds the cage. She was there when it was created. It wouldn't be that hard for her. She figures she can spring Lucifer somehow." Dean surmised.

"The Devil's Gate. She's trying to free him. The cage must be near it." Adriel gasped in horror.

"With Michael still trapped, there will be no one to oppose him. The Angels are barred from Heaven and virtually powerless. It'll be a slaughter." Castiel sighed in a defeated tone. "And there's nothing we can do."

"No. Not true." Stiles jumped in. "We find the Hell Gate first. We keep it shut. Hell, we kill Abaddon if she comes our way."

"There's a reason Abaddon has lived this long, Witch. She was his favorite. His most powerful Knight. Second in power only to him. She almost killed Raphael all those years ago." Adriel replied gravely. "She's not a cherub you can just prick with an angel dagger. She was one of Heaven's most fierce warriors."

"Not to mention we have no idea where she is."

"Well I might have an idea. I have this." Stiles plucked the crumpled piece of paper out of his pocket. "Veronica Matthews. It's not much but it's something."

Dean typed the name into the search bar on Sam's laptop. "Do you know how many 'Veronica Matthews' there are out there? A lot! Any of these women look familiar to you two? Give off an angel-vibe?" Dean turned the screen around for them to see.

"It doesn't work that way-"

"Wait! Go back!" Stiles shoved Castiel out of the way. "Oh my God. Oh my God! It all makes sense!" Stiles turned and ran. "Get your bags together boys, I'll be back to collect you in the morning!" He shouted over his shoulder. He was out the front door and gone.

"Man," Dean sighed, "I hate teleportation."

Jennifer Blake walked into the kitchen of her home. It was a full moon so the Pack would be out until on a run until morning. In truth, she was glad to have the night to herself. A little bit of privacy was always nice. She unpinned her hair and went to prepare herself a glass of wine.

"Hello Jennifer." Stiles was waiting for her atop her counter, his legs swinging back and forth. There was a black and white cat on his lap. "Or should I say Veronica? Mrs. Matthews maybe? Wife to Jerry Matthews? Your poor husband. Did you know he was found gutted in his own home? The neighbors reported seeing a weird black smoke through the windows. Only, it wasn't smoke was it? It was you."

"Stiles, you have got to let this go-"

"You know that trick you pulled with the Devil's Trap bullet was great. Making the boys believe you really were a demon. Ha! As if you could be a demon."

"I've gotten so sick you and this petty jealousy!" Jennifer slammed her fist down on the granite counter across from where Stiles sat. "I swear, when Derek gets back he'll tell you himself!" She took a step towards him and Stiles grinned.

"Stow it. You know that's not what this is about." Stiles waved his hand in a sweeping arc. The circle of Holy Oil he'd laid down burst into flames. Jennifer was surrounded. She looked at the flames in shock, standing stock still.

"What the-how could you-"

"You leave the magic circle and we'll call it even. I'll leave you alone hell, I'll even leave Beacon Hills for good. You just have to leave the circle and I'm out of you and your hubby's hair forever."

Jennifer's gaze grew steely, her mouth slightly agape. Then, a slow smirk pulled at her lips. She lifted her hands and clapped.

"Well done. Really. You must be proud of yourself. Much better than those idiots in plaid. I really was getting sick of hearing all those exorcisms whispered under your breath." She crossed her arms, her head held high. "To think you really believed me a demon."

"No, no demon. You were always and angel weren't you, Abaddon? It's in the old lore. So old I doubt even the Men of Letters knew what they were dealing with."

"Did you really think my brother would trust demons to be his Knights? Those traitorous cowards would betray him the moment they touched the earth. No, it was always the Fallen who fought at the top of his army."

"And apparently you're still fighting a losing war. What's your endgame, Abaddon? really? Lucifer's in the pit and he's not getting out. Ever." Stiles shoved his hands into his pockets and held the fallen angel's gaze.

"Are you so sure? That cage was never meant to hold two of heaven's most powerful Angels. It could barely contain one. Michael's poor box is collapsing under the strain." Abaddon crossed her arms. "Who knows? It might even have a backdoor."  
Stiles froze. "There is no backdoor."

"Correction. There wasn't. Now there is. Neat little trick my brother pulled. He knew that if his apocalypse failed he'd need an out. One of the loyal ones would find his escape hatch and set him free. Michael would still be trapped and we know how useless the angels are now. Heaven's wide open." Abaddon was pacing around the inner rim of the ring of Holy fire.

"And your telling me this why?" Stiles said calculatingly. "Now I'll just do everything in my power to make sure that doesn't happen. "

"The only reason I'd ever tell you anything would be. ..well you're a smart boy. You tell me."

"It's done. You've already done it. Where. .."

"Long away. It takes a lot of power to slip through a crack in Michael's handiwork. He needs to recuperate. You understand of course." She let out a hearty laugh. "You're too late Stiles. It's done. It's over. You want Derek? Take him!"

"Not before I kill you." Stiles drew the Angel Dagger from his jeans. "I'll focus on the Devil later."

"Oh Stiles…" She cooed. "They called me the Destroyer for a reason." Abaddon closed her eyes and held her hands out. The room began to shake aggressively, the cabinets spilling open sending dishes crashing to the floor. Stiles grabbed Julius and squeezed into the corner. The house was quaking violently, the Earth literally splitting underneath it, swallowing the foundation. Stiles hit the deck, throwing up a field around himself and his familiar. It groaned under the weight of a house caving in on and around it but it held.

When Stiles opened his eyes, Abaddon was gone and the house was in shambles. It looked even worse than before Derek rebuilt. Stiles stood slowly and looked around. The Angel was definitely gone, probably to be with her ailing brother. Stiles groaned loudly, squeezing Julius tight to his chest. He'd lost to her yet again.

In the distance, he could hear the sound of feet running towards him: the Pack.

"Shit, Derek's going to kill me."


	6. Chapter Six

Chapter Six

Two Years Past:

Stiles' fingers skated across the bar countertop. It was your typical dive bar filled with desperate lonely men and sad lonely women. Stiles normally avoided those kinds of places like the plague but this was one time, he'd give exception. He fought the urge to hold his breath in the smoke filled room.

The man he was after sat at the far end of the bar by himself. He was all broad shoulders, dark curls, and crisp, blue eyes. He was hunched over a beer, cigarette hanging loosely from his lips. Stiles sauntered over to him, his hips swaying in what he hoped was a tantalizing manner. The gaping men around him sure seemed to think so.  
Stiles settled onto the barstool next to him, sweeping a lock of his overgrown hair behind his ear and crossing his legs.

"Hey um, you got a light?" He asked quietly, glancing at the older man.

"Not my type, kid. I don't swing that way."

"Hey, I'm just looking for a lighter." Stiles smiled coyly at him. "Why? Did you think I wanted something else?"

Damien Caldwell eyed him warily, his lips pursed with suspicion. Finally, he dug a blue plastic lighter out of his jean pocket. Stiles grinned and popped the cigarette in between his lips. Damien raised an eyebrow but complied with the silent request. He clicked his lighter, the flame igniting the cigarette. Stiles inhaled deeply and pulled the stick from his mouth. He blew a smoke ring around Damien's face. He smirked playfully and uncrossed his legs.

"That wasn't so bad was it?"

"And here I thought you'd go away if I gave you what you wanted." Damien's lips twitched. Amusement or irritation, Stiles didn't know.

Stiles laughed. "Now what fun would that be?"

Present:

The moment Stiles let out a cough Julius was fully human at his side. Stiles sagged against him, exhausted. All his bouncing around and that last force field had drained him. His glamour was failing.

"My glasses? Julius I need my glasses. Someone could see my eyes." He huffed.

"I'll get them for later." The man responded. He was checking Stiles over for injuries.

"Derek, he'll-"

"Forget him! I need to get you out of here. It would be easiest if you'd actually work with me!" Julius hissed. He pulled Stiles' arm over his shoulder "I told you this was a bad idea. You should have waited for help instead of letting your vendetta get the best of you! Revenge will be the death of you!"

"I get it Julius, I fucked up. Again. I'm sorry. Can you yell at me about it tomorrow?" Stiles sighed, his eyes slipping shut.

"No, you don't get to do that. Get up. We're getting out of here as soon as possible." Julius tried to pull him along but the man wouldn't move. Familiar and master were tied, Julius couldn't bounce them away with Stiles unconscious. He collapsed under the younger man's weight, both of them hitting the ground.

"Please, if you ever don't ever do anything I tell you to do ever again, I beg you, do this for me. Please wake up." Julius cried. He shook Stiles' shoulders wildly, fear filling his heart. The patter of feet grew closer and Julius could hear the distinct sound of bones popping back into place as wolves became human.

"What the hell happened?! What did you do to my house?!" The pack was back, looks of shock and horror on their faces.

"Wasn't me..." Stiles slurred drowsily and Julius almost sobbed. "I… really need to…take a nap."

"Stiles, what the hell did you do?!"

"Don't…worry, Derek. I'll put it right…after I get a few hours… of shuteye." Stiles drifted off again.

"No! You'll put it right now! Stiles, wake up!"

"Back off, Dog. In case you haven't noticed, he's injured and I'm not feeling all too forgiving." Julius hissed disdainfully.

"I don't think you understand-"

Julius was in front of him in a second, knife drawn from his sleeve and pointed at Derek's throat. Scott and Jackson sank into defensive crouches, claws drawn and ready to fight. Derek held up and hand to call them off.

"Fine. We'll deal with it when he wakes up but he will answer for this." Derek growled. He eyed the blade with a careless air. "I mean it."

"It's not him you need to interrogate, Alpha. But I'm sure you'll see that soon enough." Julius held the werewolf's gaze for a few more seconds before lowering his weapon. "I have to tend to my master."

"Yeah, you do that."

"So for two years you tried to convince me that she was a demon and now you're saying she's an angel? Isn't that a bit counterproductive?" Derek's eyebrows were a mile high. They were back at Stiles' house since well, Derek didn't exactly have a pace for them all to sit anymore. Stiles was on his bed, propped up on the ridiculous amount of pillows Julius had found for him. Stiles didn't want to know where the cat had gotten them.

"Demonic Angel. I said 'Demonic' Angel. I was half right. And is that what you chose to focus on out all of that. I tell you that the fucking Devil is out walking around just waiting to burn the Earth to the ground and you focus on your girlfriend? Really? You need to get you fucking priorities straight, Derek." Stiles snapped.

"You have to understand how insane that all sounds! Can Angels even be evil?" Derek sounded both exasperated and annoyed. Stiles fought the urge to comfort him, to offer him some sort of solace because that just wasn't an option. Derek had to understand. Stiles would make him understand.

"Lucifer, duh. He's an angel too, dumbass." Stiles groaned loudly. He wouldn't have had to explain this at the bunker. Sam, Dean, and Cas would have taken his on his word without a second thought. Julius shushed him and fluffed his pillows some more.

"And you think Jennifer is one of his servants? You think she's a devil worshiper or something."

"First, her name is Abaddon. The skin she's riding around in is Veronica. You know, the innocent woman she's possessed? There is no Jennifer. There never was a Jennifer. You got played Derek." Stiles sighed gently, his eyes trained on the Alpha. "Just by a much better player, Derek I imagine she's had centuries to perfect her game." Stiles rubbed his temples.

"I don't believe this. I don't believe any of it, I'm sorry." Derek shrugged. "I don't even know why you're doing this. I don't know why you're even back. It's obvious you don't want to be here. Your father's not terminal; you could leave any time you wanted. You know we'd look after him."

Stiles gaped at him, too shocked to speak.

"You know what, fine! You wanna hit below the belt? I can do that too! Everyone out!" The wolves remained seated, looking at each other in confusion. "I mean it. I need to talk to the Alpha. Alone."

Scott was the first to leave. He launched out of his seat and was out the door in a heartbeat. The others filed quietly out of the room, some of them shooting meaningful glances at the two men still in the room.

"Julius, call Sam, Dean, and Cas. Tell them to round up any angels they can find and get to California. We have a huge mess to clean up." Stiles pointed his familiar to the door.

"Maybe I should stay with you just in case. You're almost powerless."

"Not powerless enough to deal with one werewolf. I'll be okay. This is something I have to do by myself." Stiles shooed him away and shut his bedroom door.

"They're still here, you know. Still listening." Derek advised him.

"Of course they are. I wouldn't expect anything less of your precious Pack." Stiles spat. "But that's not what we're here about."

"I don't know why you're so angry! You're the one who left, Stiles. You were talking all that crap about Jennifer. I didn't forget the pentagram you spray-painted on my floor which by the way had no effect just like I knew it wouldn't. I've seen a demon before. They reek of sulfur!" Stiles had been on the wrong end of Derek's temper many times but he'd never quite gotten used to it. Still, he wasn't going to back down. He wasn't some weak kid. Not anymore.

"Because she wasn't a demon! I explained that! Demonic fallen angel. When the other's get here, I'm sure they can explain better than me and hey! I didn't just leave, Derek. You drove me away. You made them stop talking to me and you made me leave. You and your bitch girlfriend stole my life from me!" Stiles wasn't quite sure when he'd gotten to his feet or when he'd crossed the room but suddenly, he was standing a hair's breath away from the Alpha, almost nose to nose.

"No I didn't! That's what you wanted! That's what you told me! You left me that voicemail-"

"Voicemail? Derek if I wanted to hurt you, I wouldn't do it with a voice mail! I would stab you in your fucking face! Think! God it's like you don't even know me!"

"Stiles it was you! It was your voice, your heartbeat. I heard it. I asked the pack to back off, told them you wanted your privacy. I thought you'd come back to us and then you were gone. Just gone. No letters no phone calls. You even skipped out on Scott's wedding. We didn't think you were coming back. Hell, most of them thought you were dead until Deaton mentioned you. He, made sure to let us know that you were alive and well. That made it clear that you were just ignoring us and didn't care anymore." Derek sucked in a breath. "You deserted us. Went off to go be a big bad witch."

"Oh fuck you, Derek. Excuse me for wanting a future!"

"I wanted you to have a future. That's what I wanted for all of you. You didn't even say goodbye, Stiles. You just took off. We meet a couple of witch's along the way who tell us about how great you are, how great you're doing, a new guy on your arm every week-"

"Don't you dare try to shame the life I built. I didn't have one here so I made a new one. You can't blame me for that. Who I chose to fuck is none of your business, you made that clear." Stiles heard the distinct sound of glass breaking below him. He really had to remember that they had an audience.

"I just don't understand. I don't understand why you're doing this at all. You hate her, I get it. But this elaborate story, this lie? She doesn't deserve that. I don't deserve that! I let you go because you told me to. Stiles, I know it was you."

"No, that is not what happened. It's not! I came here to talk to you but Jennifer told me you wanted me gone. You wanted a 'clean break' so you wouldn't hurt my feelings and that they were going to go along with it." Stiles froze, the words dying on his lips.

The moment he met Castiel, the angel had known what he was. Stiles hadn't even been fully trained and yet, Castiel had a weird way of knowing.

"Witches are dangerous, Stiles. They can summon and control demons. Some angels believe that can do the same to us. With most angels virtually powerless, you could become a serious threat." Castiel had told him. Deaton had known him a witch from birth and the Caldwells, on sight. Abaddon must have known too. After all, Stiles had always been half right when it came to figuring her out.

"We got played. Big time. I swear when I see her-"

"Oh what now-"

"Telling me to get lost because I was onto her? Leaving you a fake message to divide the group? It was right there the whole time. God…that's why she's called the Destroyer." Stiles shook his head. "This whole time, she was buying herself time. Preventing detection."

"Stiles-"

"I don't care if you believe me or not. I know what's going on. I have to make some phone calls. The door is over there." Stiles pointed to his doorway. "Take your friends with you. I have bigger things to deal with. Isaac!"

"Yeah?" Isaac shouted up the stores, his tone unsure.

"If Jennifer comes poking around, call me. Immediately." Stiles instructed. Derek narrowed his eyes.

"You don't command my Pack."

"Watch me." Stiles spat. He snapped and his door flew open with a bang. "I have work to do. I'd appreciate my privacy."

Derek pushed off the wall and headed to the door.

"Oh, and Derek?" Stiles called. "If I wanted you to leave me alone, I would tell you to your face. Always. I respected you too much not to." The door slammed shut before Derek could respond.

"We have guest." Stiles was awakened by a gentle shake of his shoulders. He rolled over to see the Winchesters in his room.

"Oh my god. I could have been naked!" He cried.

"Dear god I hope you aren't." Dean groaned. "Cas! Get in here, he's awake!"

"Did you find her?" Castiel asked as he walked into Stiles' bedroom.

"Yeah. We met." Stiles groaned and covered his face with his hands. He did not want to have this conversation.

"I take it, it didn't go well." Dean sighed. "She gone?"

"Lucifer-"

"Julius told us. We've called every other hunter we know. They're on the lookout. They know a war's coming." Sam assured him. "Julius also told us you had quite the accident."

"I want her dead. Whether we get Lucifer or not, I could care less. I just want her. She ruined everything for me." Stiles ground out.

"That's not healthy."

"Shut up Sammy. If there's one thing we know how to do, it's revenge. Still, we don't exactly have the luxury of a personal vendetta right now. You know, Devil to catch and all." Dean nodded towards the window. "He could be anywhere."

"Michael. We'll need him." Castiel sighed thoughtfully.

"Castiel is right. We'll need Michael if we want any hope of defeating Lucifer. He's the only one who can match him." Adriel agreed. Stiles hadn't even noticed her before, she was so quiet.

"No way. We already have one power crazy angel running around. No way we can handle two."

"And I don't know it you remember but we didn't exactly part on the best of terms with Michael." Sam reminded them. "He's not all that fond of us."

"Not many angels are." Adriel shrugged. "Still, it's a necessity."

"Ignoring that first comment, she might be right. Either that or..."

"Wait. Why can't we make this play out in a favor?" Stiles said suddenly.

"The earth burning? Please explain to me how that can work for us because I'm just a bit lost-"

"Heaven. Lucifer's goal has always been to get back into Heaven. Maybe to destroy it but he at least has to get there first right? If we can get him to pop the lock, you guys can go back to Heaven." Stiles shrugged. "It's an idea."

"Not without merit." Adriel looked contemplative.

"I would like it said that I don't like either of those plans." Sam countered. "We do our best work when it's just us muddling through on our own with a few hunters to help us out. Let's stick with what we know."

Stiles lifted himself up and groaned, "Julius I told you about candy in bed!"

"You might want to work on that sweet tooth, cat. One bag is enough." Dean pointed to the crumpled skittles bags stiles was throwing on the floor.

"I don't know where they came from." Julius shrugged. He wouldn't meet his Master's eyes. Stiles raised an eyebrow at him.

"Just keep it out of my bed!"

"That could be twisted." Dean winked.

"Shut up. I made these the other night." Stiles pulled four hex bags from under his mattress. "Yours are getting kind of old."

"Thanks Stiles. We're gonna go take a look at where she vanished from. Julius offered to take us." Sam told him.

"Of course, I have my own business to take care of. Have fun boys. Now get out, I'm changing."

"Did you know who she was?" Stiles was waiting for Deaton in the break room of the clinic. He had his sunglasses and gloves on. Deaton could sense his magical vulnerability. Stiles had been significantly weakened.

"I will admit I had suspicions of Demonic activity. An angel however, the thought never crossed my mind. One doesn't normally associate them with Hell. Perhaps that was our mistake." Deaton sat down across from him. "What are you planning to do?"

"That's why I came here. I'm lost. I can't figure out how to stop her, the Devil, fix things with Derek...I hate this feeling. I feel powerless. I'd forgotten I could feel this way." Stiles groaned and pulled his sunglasses off. They were the same blazing amber from before, alight with magic not so carefully hidden. "I need someone to point me in the right direction."

"You know I can't do that. That's one of the reasons you have a familiar." Deaton reminded him.

"I think this is a bit out of Julius' depth. He's a clueless as I am when it comes to defeating the source of all evil." Stiles' deadpanned.

"The angels, I'm sure they can help."

"I think you mean the flies for Lucifer to swat. Cut off from Heaven, remember?"

"So is Lucifer." Deaton replied easily.

"I'm pretty sure he's adjusted by now." Stiles groaned and laid his forehead down on the table. "I don't think they'll appreciate being used as cannon fodder." He lifted his head to meet Deaton's eyes. "I just want this to end. I'm sick of wars, Alan. I'm sick of battles and revenge. This is just going to be one giant bloodbath and I hate it. I hate it so much."

"You can make this better, Stiles. You can help to fix it. I know you can." Deaton laid a hand on his shoulder. "And you're not alone. Look around you. There are greater forces at work here. Michael isn't the only one who can stand up to Lucifer."

Stiles cocked his head in confusion. Adriel and Castiel would beg to differ with that notion. He stood up and put his sunglasses back on.

"I'll take that under advisement."


	7. Chapter Seven

Chapter Seven

Two Years Past:

"Is this your car?" Stiles tucked his hands in his back pockets and walked around the car. It was a deep sea blue BMW Z4 convertible with black leather seats and a metal weave interior.

"Yeah. It was a gift." Damien rubbed the back of his head almost nervously. Stiles bit his lip stepped into the older man's space. He placed a hand on his chest, fluttering his eyelashes just a bit.

"Why don't you take me for a ride?" He leaned forward, his nose barely brushing against the exposed skin of Damien's collarbone.

He heard the man's breath hitch and knew, his night has just gotten a little bit more interesting.

Present:

"We put the call out to every hunter we know that the Apocalypse might be back on." Stiles set a plate down in front of each of the three men that sat at his kitchen table. Adriel had disappeared earlier in the day. She'd said something about more 'angelic' connections.

"Good." Stiles sighed as he poured himself a glass of orange juice and sat down to join them. "We're gonna need all the help we can get."

"Stiles, you know that means...you know." Sam shot him a pointed glance.

"I know, Sam. You called the Caldwells. How is Miriam, by the way?"

"Still reeling over the death of her son." Dean supplied. "She doesn't know we're allied with a witch but if she found out who you were, she'd put the dots together. Her husband kills your mother and so you kill the son out of spite."

"It's not that far of a leap is it? And spite and revenge are two different things. Besides, the Caldwells systematically destroyed my entire family. I only killed Damien." Stiles replied nonchalantly. He took a sip of his juice. The three men eyed him carefully.

"I don't believe I've ever heard you actually admit to it before." Castiel said quietly.

"To what? Killing Damien? Really? I thought I'd told you." Stiles shrugged and took a bite of his pancakes. To be honest, he didn't really like talking about the night he'd seduced Damien Caldwell out of a dive bar and strangled him in the back of the man's own car. What he'd done to the body…that'd been even worse.

"Yeah, getting past the fact that there's a hardened killer in the room, we need to focus on you know, Lucifer walking free again?" Dean snapped. Castiel added some sugar to a cup of coffee and passed it to him with a light pat to his shoulder. Stiles grinned at them, despite Dean's glowering face.

"And the fact that every hunter in the country is on their way here right now. Have you noticed that out best lead happens to be a witch? Or that one of the hunting families we talked to happens to be the family that wiped out said witch's coven?" Sam repeated exasperatedly. "This is going to be a nightmare."

"I'm not sure why you've come to expect anything less." Castiel shook his head slightly, a small sigh escaping his lips.

"Lucifer isn't here. I don't know how many times I have to say it. He won't be in Beacon Hills, not anymore anyway. If I were him I'd want to shut the Hell Gate as quickly as possible and put at least a country or two in between me and it. It's safe to say Abaddon's with him now that her cover's blown. There's no point in them coming unless they want to open the Hell Gate themselves and let Michael loose." Stiles quirked an eyebrow. "Did that become the plan while I was asleep?"

"Speaking of sleep, you've been doing quite a bit of that lately. You okay?"

"Yeah. Still a little drained from the fight but I'm okay. I won't be teleporting anytime soon, though." Stiles pushed his empty plate away. "Okay, you guys need to go. I have to make breakfast for my dad now and if he wakes up and sees more strange people than usual, we'll have problems. I'll call you later."

"Stiles-"

"Later, Dean. I can hear him getting up. Take the food to go, really." He poured Dean's mug of coffee into a Styrofoam cup and handed it to Castiel. "Make sure they get to their motel safe."

Castiel gave him a small smile. "Of course."

They left without much of a ruckus and when Stiles was sure his father had settled into a plate of whole grain pancakes and egg whites, he sat down on the couch to watch some television. Naturally, he fell asleep again.

When Stiles awoke he wasn't sure where he was. It most certainly wasn't his bed. As he recalled, his mattress wasn't the forest floor.

"What in the...?" Stiles rolled over and groaned. He propped himself up and got to his feet. The dirt was cool and moist in between his toes.

He was on the edge of a clearing, moonlight giving the small meadow and eerie glow.

"Jesus, maybe my life really is Twilight." He sighed.

Stiles stepped into the clearing, his skin pale skin almost luminescent under the moon's light. The grass and flowers were damp with dew, the cuffs of his pajama pants quickly becoming soaked. Stiles shuddered. He hated the feel of wet fabric against his skin. "Hello!" He shouted. "Mysteries being who keeps screwing around with me?!"

The clearing remained deadly silent. There were no cricket chirps, no late early morning bird calls, no signs of life anywhere. "This isn't good. This can't be good."

Suddenly, a sharp bark pierced the air. He could make out the sound of padding feet somewhere in the distance.

"Derek!?" he called urgently. Had the Alpha heard him alone in the woods? God, how mortifying would that be? Derek having to come rescue him in the middle of the wood.

The sound was getting closer, so close that Stiles could now tell that it wasn't one set of feet, but many. Had Derek brought the entire pack?

Stiles laughed uneasily. Derek wouldn't need everyone would he? He backed away from the trees, further into the clearing. The flowers were halfway up his calves, stems twisting and tying around his ankles, tripping him as he backed away. The feet were getting closer and Stiles could hear them snarling, vicious and hungry. He let out a shriek and bolted.

They were gaining on him, there snarls growing louder and louder as they neared. And then it hit him: Hellfire. The distinct odor of burning flesh and blood filled his nostrils and Stiles wanted to cry. Hell Hounds, he was being chased by Hell Hounds! He stopped and clasped his hands together.

"Coniuro salis," He whispered thrusting his hand into the air. A shower of salt rained around him, forming a circle. Stiles huffed, his chest throbbing. He couldn't see them but he could hear them surrounding the circle, growling and snuffling, anxious to get at him.

"Get away!" He screamed. "Get away?" There were tears running down his face, fear suffocating him. How many were there? Five, six, ten? He couldn't distinguish the growls, the barks, or the snarls enough to get an exact number.

He closed his eyes and sucked in a calming breath. He tried to force the sound of the monsters from his head. Hell Fire was notoriously tricky and dangerous to work with. It was dark magic, darker than anything Stiles had ever attempted before and one of the most uncontrollable spells, known for often turning on its conjuror.

Still, it was a choice between being burned alive or savaged by hell's pit bulls. Stiles sunk down onto one knee and clasped his hands together in front of his face. He sqeezed his eyes shut and focused on the beast. "Gehénnam," he breathed, "coniuro gehénnam!" The Flames came from all around him, engulfing him in heat. The Hell Hounds yipped and barked in pain as the flames smothered them. Stiles forced the Fire away from himself and fled.

His fingers clawed into the skin of his arms and blood stained his nails. He was drenched in sin, the dark magic swelling inside him. Stiles doubled over and vomited, the acid burning the back of his throat. In the distance, he could hear the surviving Hounds resume their chase, a sharp howl piercing the air. He heaved himself back up and ran.

The forest around him grew less and less dense and then he was at a road. He saw the headlights of a car racing towards him and ran out into the road. The car slammed to a stop, the tires screeching violently. Stiles raced to the driver's side window and knocked. There was a man inside. He looked to be in his mid-forties. The window rolled down and he stuck his head out, a quizzical look on his face.

"Help me! Please help me! I need to get out of here! Something's chasing me!" Stiles blurted in a hurry. The man looked at him with frightened, green eyes but nodded still. Stiles raced to the passenger side of the car and jumped inside. He turned to grab his seatbelt when he heard the sound of the driver's side door opening.

"Now, Now Stiles. Don't you know better than to get into a car with a stranger?" Stiles froze and whipped around just in time to see the man fall out of the car, his throat in ribbons.

Abaddon kicked his body away and settled into the driver seat. "Let's go for a ride, huh? That sound fun?" She looked different. Instead of the friendly teacher image filled with skirts and cardigans, she was wearing a leather jacket that hugged her frame with nothing but a strapless black bra underneath and dark skinny jeans with combat boots.

"Did you lose your shirt on the way over here or are you just making a statement? You know, Fallen Angel and all." Stiles scoffed.

Abaddon gave a throaty laugh, her red lips pulling back in what could either be a smile or a snarl.

"You know, you and I could've been friends. We have the same sense of humor." She sighed deeply put her hands on the steering wheel. The car roared to life. "It's sad really."

"All this living amongst humanity made you soft?" Stiles prodded.

"If you're thinking you can somehow use my 'affection' for Derek against me? No. I love one and one alone and clue, it isn't Derek Hale." Stiles studied her face carefully. It was hard to believe she'd ever been his teacher. She practically radiated power.

"Really, I thought you had a thing for prodigal sons." Stiles continued. They were heading up a stretch of road that Stiles had never seen before. Come to think of it, he'd never seen any of this place before. "Where are we?"

"We're in France."

Stiles gaped at her. "You're kidding right? This is some evil Angel trick. I'm not in France."

"Yep, we're in northern France. The Paimpont forest. I never picked you for a much of a runner. I guess you wasted a lot more energy than you let on in our little tiff." She glanced at him, a wicked smirk on her lips.

Stiles' eyes narrowed. "It was you, wasn't it? You sent the hell hounds after me."

"Now you're catching on. Finally got that sleep out of your eyes, I see." She stopped the car in a little duvet the side of the road. She turned to face him. "Now listen to me," she poked him in the chest. "If I had my way, I would have ripped open your little throat the moment I laid eyes on you but for some reason, my Master wants you alive. I don't know why. I don't ask a lot of the big questions, you know?" She pinched his cheek. "That being said," He saw her draw her fist back and then, Stiles' world went black.

When he awoke again, he was somewhere different. The air was hot and dry, the floor hard beneath him. Someone shook his shoulder, speaking quietly over him in a language he only vaguely recognized.

"Is that Hebrew?" he asked groggily. The man above him looked confused. "English? Do you speak English?" He asked hopefully.  
He was a tiny man with short grey hair and warm brown eyes. There was a cross hanging from his neck. Stile's looked around the room. There were frescos and relief sculptures of biblical scenes on all of the walls. He was in a church! The man still looked confused but Stiles realized, the gaze wasn't for him. The little man was looking past him, an expression of awe gracing his face. Stiles turned to see what had captured his attention.

There was a semi-circular space in the wall behind him. Coins littered the floor and there was a silver cup hanging from a plaque over his head. He didn't know what was supposed to be there but now there was a large hole in the ground, a stairway descending into what seemed like nothingness.

"Let me guess, that's not normal?" He groaned. This had been one hell of a day. "Well, it's a church. No Hell Hounds in a church right? Right." Stiles reached out a hand and the man helped him to his feet. "Wish me luck man who can't understand a word I'm saying."

"Archangelum!" The man cried jovially. He pulled Stiles into a tight embrace, squeezing the man's already tired ribs.

"That's Latin! Why are you calling me an Archangel? Was there an Archangel here? Was Michael-" Stiles froze. Was this it? Was Lucifer waiting for him down in that pit?

The man gave him a gentle shove. "Archangelum." The last time he'd taken on an angel by himself, he ended up in the rubble of the not-love-of-his-life's destroyed house. Still, he turned to face the hole and stepped forward.

Stiles nervously descended the stairway, his hand groping at the walls of the small shaft. There was some light filtering from the bottom of the stair. He was surprised when his bare feet touched soft ground. Stiles' eyes widened at the treasure of a room he found. It was like he was in the meadow again only this time, it was filled with white lilies and dead in the center was a pool of water. It was an underground spring! The walls of the small cavern were decorated with biblical mosaics, one scene of which, he actually the recognized from text he'd read at the bunker.

"The Annunciation...where am I?" He stepped closer to the water's edge. "Um, Father? Preacher paster guy? You wanna tell me why I'm down here?" He called up the stair. There was no light at the top. The hole had closed. Stiles groaned. It had been one hell of a night. Day? Couple of days? He looked down at himself. The dinginess of his pajamas said a couple of days. His father had to be going out of his mind. Then again, he was used to Stiles disappearing. He shoved that thought from his head.

Stiles rubbed his stomach. Man, he was hungry too! All the time spent sleeping and or running for his life, he hadn't noticed how hungry he was. He plopped down onto the ground and curled in on himself. He was wet, tired, starving, and miserable. His mouth was dry like it always was when he first woke up and that sucked. He peeked over the tops of his knees at the fresh spring of water directly across from him.

Thirst was one thing right? Maybe after he'd quenched it, he could finally get his head back on straight. "God, if you're there, don't strike me down for drinking your church water." He whispered. He crawled over to the pool. He almost cried when he felt how cold it was. He cupped his hands and brought them to his mouth. The water was clear and clean, something he didn't expect. He closed his eyes a leaned forward to take a drink when he a sharp shove sent him sprawling into the water.

It was hell of a lot deeper than it looked and the shock sent fumbling towards the bottom. Stiles fought to keep his eyes open and right himself. The surface, he had to get back to the surface. He kicked his legs like mad but something was holding him underwater. He turned his head every which way, searching for his assailant when he saw it.

There was a figure in the water, very clearly dead.

Stiles opened his mouth to scream and water rushed in, flooding down his throat. He kicked his legs, propelling himself to the surface. He coughed and sputtered, wracking his chest and forcing the water from his lungs. "Oh God! Oh God, where am I?! What is going on?!" He looked back towards the lip of the spring top see who had pushed him but there was no one there. "What do you want!?" He screamed. "What do you want from me!? This is sick!" For a moment he wondered if it was Lucifer, if it had all be some elaborate plot just to screw with him. "Well fine then." He dove back beneath the surface and swam towards the body. He grabbed its wrist and kicked as hard as he could, yanking the dead weight to the surface.

He dragged it to the edge, lilies catching on the flesh. It was male and remarkably well preserved, he thought. The skin had barely turned blue, the flesh not deteriorated at all. If Stiles hadn't known better, he would have thought the man alive.

"There! There's your sick joke! There's what you wanted me to find!" He screamed at the ceiling. "Now tell me what you fucking want from me!" A gentle breeze brushed across his face, a sweet smell filling his nostrils and Stiles froze. That prickle he got at the back of his neck whenever he met an angel was back again only much much worse. Stronger than Adriel, stronger than Abaddon even. He whipped around to see that the body had vanished.

"Over here, kiddo."  
Stiles turned back towards the stairs. There was his dead man, stark naked and alive. His wet short bangs were plastered to his forehead and golden brown eyes cut into his soul, a sly smirk on his face. "I hear you're having trouble with the Devil."

* * *

If you follow me on Ao3, you know I update here far less frequently. Sorry.


	8. Chapter Eight

Chapter Eight

Two years past:

"Are you drunk, Damien?" Stiles asked breathlessly. He leaned his seat back slowly. They were speeding down the highway, water on either side of them as far as Stiles could see.

"What? No. I had like, a sip before you stole me away." Damien chuckled. Stiles raised his hand and gave his index finger a twirl. He felt more than heard the engine rev.

"Are you sure you're not drunk Damien? You reek of vodka. We might crash." Stiles tipped his head back, the wind whipping his hair across his face.

"Are you joking? Is this supposed to be funny?" Damien looked less amused now, his hands tightening their grip on the steering wheel.

"Tell me Damien, was Claudia Stilinski alive when your father sent her car into the river?" Stiles' smile held firm. He gave a hard shove with his hand and the gas pedal slammed to the floor. Damien's eyes widened as he was slammed back into his seat. They were flying down the road, their surroundings nothing but a blur.

"Witch-"

"If you jump out of this car, you'll be killed on impact. If you reach for the gun in your pants, I'll incinerate you where you sit. Either way you die. Now answer my question."

He could see the older man's jaw flexing. "No. She wasn't awake. My father wanted to have mercy on her."

"And why would a big bad witch hunter want to have mercy on a witch?" Stiles asked demurely.

"He admired her loyalty."

"Her loyalty to what? C'mon Damien, work with me here. You do me this favor and I might let you walk. Hell, you might still get the D if you're still horny after this." Stiles wink. "Her loyalty to what?"

"There was another witch. The one we'd been waiting on. The firstborn of the next generation of her coven was prophesized to lay a curse on our family. She wouldn't give up a name or location no matter what he did. So he killed her and then set out to destroy the rest of the coven. It was a preemptive strike." Damien snapped. "He did what he thought was right to protect our family. He admired her loyalty to hers."

Stiles clicked his tongue. "Well your dad obviously didn't do a very good job." He unbuckled his seatbelt and leaned over the center console. His lips grazed the shell of Damien's ear.

"He missed one."

Present:

"Who the hell are you?" Stiles' voice was low, his hands curling into fist, energy curling into waves beneath his fingertips.

"Look around you, kid. I've been watching you for a while. I know you're smart. You can figure this one out." The man winked, a hand on his hip. Stiles tried to keep his eyes above his naked waist.

His eyes searched the cavern for clues. The Annunciation…the white lilies…

"Archangelum…"

"Gabriel." He gasped. "You're Gabriel! You're an archangel…"

"Finally In the flesh again." Gabriel's lips quirked up in amusement. "I gotta hand it to you kid. You sure do have a way with angels. Not just anyone can put an angel's grace back into a dormant vessel."

"This is impossible. You died. Sam and Dean saw you die! They were sure of it." Stiles shook his head emphatically, messy locks falling over his face.

"If by dead you mean forced to flee my vessel and stage my death once again, you'd be right. I had Kali stash the body here but well, sometimes it takes a little help to slip back into an old skin. You understand of course."

"No. No, I don't understand. I'd actually appreciate more of an explanation if you don't mind. You've jerked me around the entire fucking planet. I got chased by Hellhounds!" Stiles shouted viciously, stomping his feet like a child.

"Yeah, sorry about that. My hold's tenuous when I'm incorporeal. Abaddon sniffed you out in France and well, she set the dogs on you. I picked you back up again." Gabriel shrugged. "This is my church. The Church of St. Gabriel in Nazareth. You're standing where I told Mary she was pregnant." He pointed to Stiles' feet.

"Wait, that happened? Never mind, more pressing issues. Why'd you stash yourself here?"

"Because Lucifer can't enter. Neither can Michael. This is my place. Michael has San-Michel in France and I have this. Most angels have a little nook on the Earth where they can hide out if necessary."

"Oh well, that's nice and all but, I'd really like to go home. I want to eat an actual meal and take a shower and maybe a nap. You need to take me home."

"Yeah sure." Gabriel snapped his fingers and they were on Stiles' porch. "Woo…I can see why Luci needed a long nap after putting himself back together. I'm gonna go on a little retreat of my own." And Gabriel was gone. Stiles wanted to scream.

"Stiles? I thought you'd left." The Sheriff was sitting at the kitchen table, breakfast in front of him.

"I got kidnapped by an Archangel. You know, the usual. Thanks for worrying, Dad." Stiles snagged a piece of toast from his father's plate and wolfed it down.

"Stiles, you've been gone for two weeks. Your stuff was packed up and gone. I'd just assumed-"

"What do you mean my stuff is gone? Dad!" Stiles raced up the stairs to check his bedroom.

Gabriel was there, conked out on his bed. Julius sat on his chest, purring contentedly. All of Stiles' things were in the places. Julius winked an eye open.

"One day, I'm going to kill you, you stupid cat."

-  
"What exactly did Abaddon do to this place?" Dean killed the engine and opened his car door.

"Leveled it. Next time, I'm riding up front. Sam's legs are way too long. I have no leg space." Stiles opened said once he was out of the car.

"I don't know, Cas might fight you for the spot." Dean shrugged.

"Oh I'm sure he will." Stiles winked. "Derek! Derek we need to talk!" The watched Derek come down from the wreckage of his home.

"What are you doing here?" He asked in an exasperated voice.

"There's a few things we need to discuss about your ex-girlfriend." Dean supplied.

"Stiles, I don't need to hear this right now. Take your friends and go." Derek snapped.

"I need you to listen to me this time, Derek. There's more at stake here! You can hate me after everything is over, reject me all you want but we have to work together to stop her! Please, if she's using you against me." Stiles cried.

"Stiles, I really don't have time for this crap, again. In case you haven't noticed, I have an entire house to rebuild." Derek snorted in irritation.

"No, you don't." Stiles groaned and grabbed his arm.

"What? Stiles, it's a wreck-"

"I made you a promise, Derek." Derek furrowed his brow in confusion. Stiles squeezes his bicep, a tight look on his face. "Look." Stiles pointed over his shoulder. He watched Derek's eyes narrow in suspicion.

"I thought you said no wasting magic, Stiles." Dean raised an eyebrow at him.

"Apparently you've been on an adventure the last couple days." Isaac stood behind Derek, a wry smirk on his face. "Julius told me you had to help an angel. Was it really him?"

Stiles glanced at Derek and nodded. "It's him. He had to get back into his vessel."

"Vessel?" That was Lydia. Stiles stepped away from the pack accepting his place in between Sam and Cas. He faced her.

"Angels, they need a vessel to walk around the earth." He explained quietly.

"Well that doesn't sound very 'all powerful angel' like you were describing." Erica bit out. Stiles' breath caught.

"Without a vessel, an angel's true celestial form would burn your eyes out of your skull." Castiel told her. There was no malice or snark in his voice, only fact.

"Yeah, we'd assume you'd want to prevent that." There was no kindness in Dean's smile.

"She was here earlier. Grabbed some stuff out of her room and left." Isaac said quietly, the words spilling from his lips in a rush.

"Stuff? What kind of stuff?" Dean demanded.

"I don't know-"

"Isaac, shut the fuck up." Erica thunked him on the back of the head.

"No Isaac, please. Tell me. What did she take with her?" Stiles pleaded.

"It was some little bag. Smelled weird." He shrugged.

"That'll be a hex bag. Great. There go any hopes we had of tracking her by magical means." Dean groaned. "She'll be invisible. Hope you weren't too attached lover boy because she's in the wind."

"They're going underground. Lucifer has to know about Gabriel's return. He's not making the same mistakes again. We all felt it." Adriel groaned. "When he decides to finally show himself, it will already be too late. We need to get Gabriel back on his feet as soon as possible. He can get Michael-"

"I thought we agreed that busting Michael out was a bad idea." Stiles bit out. "You know, Armageddon all over again."

"You were supposed to stop Abaddon, you failed. Because of this we have no choice. Lucifer will roast the planet alive when he gets his full powers back and no witch, no man, no beast, and certainly no angel, not even Gabriel will be able to stand against him." Adriel hissed.

"We could barely hold our own against Abaddon at this point." Castiel agreed quietly. "Dean…"

"No, that's not an option. Stiles, you can sweep the room for magic, right? Scry to get us a location?" Dean prodded.

"I'll need a new mirror and access to the house."

"No. You can take that angel's and demon's crap somewhere else. Stiles, I swear, keep us out of this." Derek raised his hand in a dismissive gesture. "Keep Beacon Hills out it."

"Last time I checked I was from Beacon Hills too, Derek." Stiles scoffed.

"Do we even need to go there-" Derek growled.

"Hey, back the fuck off!" Dean snapped. "Put the claws away before this gets nasty." Stiles watched the tension shift, rage permeating the air. He could see both Sam and Dean reaching towards their guns. He could her fangs clacking together and claws extending all around the pack.

"Please, calm down. Everyone just take a deep breath and back away. There doesn't need to be bloodshed."

"You brought hunters here!"  
"They're my friends! They're here about Abaddon, not about you. I'd never let them hurt you guys. I swear."

"I'm not too keen on the whole werewolf thing but you don't see me making threats big guy." Dean's hand was wrapped around the grip of his gun.

"Of course you're not, you couldn't be that stupid." Derek stood directly in front of him. The two men were almost nose to nose.

"Please, I'm not afraid of you. I've fought hundreds of you and won. What's a few more heads to add to my record?"

"I'm gonna enjoy ripping your throat out-"

"I wanna see you fucking try-"

"That's enough. Castiel, get your human, please." Stiles barked. "Derek, put your claws away. We can be adults about this. We need to know about Abad-Jennifer to save the world. Once we get what we need, we'll leave. You have my word."

"And we're supposed to just take that at face value? Just take your word on it?" Scott's voice was low. "We all know what that's gotten us." Stiles bristled at that.

"Is this about your fucking wedding, Scott? I'm sorry I wasn't there. Really. Sorry but could you please just get over yourself until we you know, stop the apocalypse from happening? When it's over, I'll throw you a new ceremony and everything. It'll be beautiful. I might just cry. You can go anywhere for your honeymoon." Stiles snapped.

"Sarcasm might not be the best way to approach such a delicate situation. Clearly we're only a few wrong turns away from a fistfight." Castiel whispered from behind him.

"No, please don't stop him." Adriel chuckled.

"You never take anything seriously do you? We were a joke, a fucking experiment for you. We were supposed to be friends, Stiles." Erica brushed her hair out of her eyes.

"You're the one being unfriendly from where I'm standing. I came here to fix Derek's house as a gesture of peace. I'm sorry that it got messed up again. Wasn't my fault, but I am sorry so I fixed it. That was nice. You could at least repay my kindness by helping us out. Now where is she, Derek?"

"No, you don't get to come here and make demands, okay. You've been an asshole to us!"

"No more than you've been to me! Damn it, Derek! I know you don't want to trust me but you need to. This is so much bigger than us. Please, I need you to believe me. I need you to be on my side this time. When it's all over, I'll walk away if that's what you want. But for right now, if we're going to make it out of this alive, I need you to trust me." Stiles squeezed his arm tight, his eyes searching Derek's face for any sign of disbelief. He could pinpoint the exact moment Derek gave in. The man's eyes closed, his shoulders slumped, and a resigned sigh left his lips.

"Please Derek, she's not a good person. She didn't love you." Stiles squeezed him tighter.

"What do you need me to do?" Derek looked defeated and Stiles hated himself for putting that look on his face.

"We need to see her room."

"You two were sharing?"

"We've been dating for six years so yeah, I thought it was okay for us to share a bed." Derek stood in the doorway of his bedroom, his eyes following Stile's every move. He'd refused either Sam or Dean access into his home and Cas and Adriel had chosen to remain with them outside. That left Stiles to do the investigating.

He opened every drawer and dumped their contents onto Derek's bed.

"Black boxers? Really? I swear, even your underwear broods." Derek didn't chuckled like Stiles wanted him to.

"What exactly are you looking for?"

"Most likely, she cleaned up everything. We won't find any actual objects, I'm sure. What I'm really on the lookout for are the remnants. Energy signatures. Anything she may have forgotten ore been unable to clean. You know, something that could give us a hint as to where she and the big boss are hiding out. The quicker we find Lucifer, the easier it will be to beat him. Every second we waste, he grows more powerful." Stiles sighed and moved onto the closet instead.

"And then what?"

"And then the whole shebang. Armageddon. Violence, bloodshed, complete and utter chaos, you name it." Stiles pushed a strand of hair behind his ear. "Can you take a step back? I'm going to do a spell." Derek nodded and stepped into the hall. Stiles extended his arms out at about a ninety degree angle on either sides of his body.

"Ostende te." He whispered. "Nuntius temporis antiqui, ostende mihi teipsum." The room was suddenly bathed in a bright light. When it faded, dark shadows lingered in the corners of Derek's room.

"Gotcha."


End file.
